A Friend in Deed
by SylvieT
Summary: Post-Pirates of the Third Reich story which starts at the whip scene and carries on after the credits rolled and up to the morning after. How will Sara react to Grissom's spending the night at the Dominion? Grissom/Lady Heather friendship. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is the second instalment into my trying to explain the depth of Grissom and Lady Heather's unlikely friendship. The first instalment, A Little Civility before Work, takes place during and after _Lady Heather's box_ and is not to everyone's taste. You don't need to have read it to enjoy this one.

With Lady Heather comes angst, so this story is a little angsty I guess, but ultimately I'm staying true to the show and GSR, and hopefully the characters.

Some dialogue is borrowed from episode _Pirates of the Third Reich_ and sadly isn't mine.

A/N 2: For Robynne. I know it's not Christmas yet but as you know we got snow, so why not?

* * *

A Friend in Deed.

* * *

Foot pressed firmly down on the accelerator pedal, hands spread wide, clenched tightly around the steering wheel, his eyes flicked away from the tarmac rolling under him to the dark desert roadside beyond. His heart rate increased as he passed the sign for Sparks. Two miles, it read. He wasn't far. Unconsciously he pushed his foot harder to the floor.

He wanted to believe his instinct was wrong and that Heather wouldn't have taken the law into her own hands and Sneller back to where Zoe had been found. He wanted to believe that she couldn't have found it in her to torture and punish the man for what he had done to her daughter herself. He banged an angry fist on the steering wheel. How could he have been so foolish as to believe she would just stand aside and let justice run its course?

A deep sense of foreboding permeated him and he couldn't help shaking his head at the fact that he should have been able to anticipate her actions, somehow prevented them even. He had been so caught up with the case, with finding Zoe's killer himself that he had underestimated her rage and misery, and most importantly the lengths she would go to in order to find the killer and get retribution. He should have read in her eyes when she'd handed him Sneller's semen that she wouldn't – couldn't – stop there. She'd sold her dignity, her integrity just so he could have his proof and a conviction and he should have known then she'd trade her freedom, her life, for the man's life – or rather his death.

He slowed on nearing the place where Zoe's body was found, frantically scanning the desert roadside for signs of Heather before making out the glow of car headlights and her silhouetted body stood in front of a car. Her arms were moving in wide, steady arcs and he swallowed at the sickening image that filled his mind. Praying that he wasn't too late, he made a sharp turn onto the dirt road. It didn't take him long to glimpse Sneller's body bent double, tied up by his arms to the front of Heather's SUV as she repeatedly, relentlessly thrashed him, unleashing all her fury and grief with vicious intensity into the might of her whip.

He pulled up, jumping out of his Denali. "Heather," he shouted, "Stop it!"

Beyond reasoning and totally out of control, she didn't let up and continued her frenzied assault on her daughter's killer who, stripped of his clothes and dignity, his face and chest bloodied and cut, could only cry out in agonising pain at every crack of the whip. "No. Let me finish," she cried through gritted teeth as she reached back for another lash.

Grissom stepped forward in time, catching the end of the whip with his hand, stopping Heather before she could strike another time. She whirled round, tugging back at the whip with all her might, desperate to pull it out of Grissom's grasp and continue her punitive lashing. Her hair was a mess, matted and damp, her tears bled into her mascara streaking her face in such a way that she almost looked demented, possessed by some higher, dark force.

"You cannot do this," he said as he struggled to keep a hold of the whip.

"No!" Heather gave frenzied tugs at the whip but wouldn't meet his gaze. "Let go! Let-"

"No!"

"Please," she begged, crying, as she continued to wrestle the whip out of his hands.

"Stop!" Grissom commanded firmly, hoping the use of the safe word would break through to her subconscious. "Heather-"

"Please," she begged again desperately, looking up beseechingly.

His gaze held hers steadily as he repeated, "I'm saying '_Stop'_."

The word finally tapped into her submissive side, breaking whatever spell she was under and she stopped struggling. She lifted defeated eyes at Grissom and watched him as though seeing him for the first time. Her face crumpled with grief as she fought to catch her breath, gasping deep heaving sobs.

Cautiously he pulled the whip toward him while taking a tentative step closer to her, then another, as he gently reeled her to him until dissolving into tears she fell into his arms. Only then did he take a shuddering breath, thanking God he'd gotten to her in time as he held her close to him and stroked a gentle hand through her hair while she cried. His gaze flicked to Sneller panting and whimpering at the foot of the SUV but he made no move to go to the man's help; Brass and the EMT's weren't far behind him he knew and Heather was his priority and he would take care of her first.

She suddenly pulled back from him. Tears were streaming down her face. "Why did you stop me?" she gasped in a heart wrenching sob. She banged her fists into his chest but the fight had left her and the blows were weak. "Why?" she asked again, pleadingly. "He deserves to suffer. He deserves to die."

Grissom watched her with all the pain and compassion he felt. He dropped the whip and got hold of her wrists, stilling them, offering a small pained smile. Heather's face crumpled again and he let go of her left wrist and gently brushed a matted strand of hair away from her face. "I didn't have a choice, Heather. You wouldn't have stopped yourself – couldn't have stopped. I had to say the word," he added softly, holding her gaze, "I had to tell you to stop."

Fresh tears spilled, her chest heaved with shuddering breaths as he spoke to her. His words had the calming effect though and she looked down, nodding, finally accepting what he had done and why he had done it. Grissom sighed and closed his eyes, once again pulling her to him, stroking his hand soothingly up and down her hair as she cried softly into his shoulder.

The once distant screaming of the police and EMT sirens began to echo closer in the desert night. Startled back to his senses he sighed and pulled away from her. "Heather," he said while removing his CSI windbreaker and wrapping it around her shoulders, "Go to the truck and get the first aid kit from the trunk."

Completely dazed and her gaze fixed to the ground, Heather remained motionless.

"Heather," he called firmly, shaking her by the shoulders. She looked up. "Did you hear me? Go and get the first-aid kit from the trunk of the truck! Now!" He held her gaze until she came out of her trance and nodded at him. He rushed to the SUV, crouching down in front of a moaning Sneller, taking in the sight with a sad shake of the head and began working at untying the man's wrists of their binds. They were tied fast and he couldn't.

Heather returned with the box just as Brass and the EMT's were pulling in at the crime scene.

"PD's here," he told her as he opened the box rummaging for the scissors, "Don't say anything, do you hear me Heather? Let me handle Brass." He cut off the leather binds and Sneller fell to the dirt ground with a thud. He had time to lie Zoe's killer down onto his back before the paramedics pushed him out of the way, taking over.

Grissom straightened up to his full height with a wince and watched Brass jog down toward him. The police captain took stock of the scene, his gaze darkening as he glanced at Heather.

Anticipating Brass's next move, Grissom stepped protectively in front of her. Keeping his eyes on Brass he said, "Heather, go wait in the truck." He turned and dipped his head, making eye contact. "You're cold; you're shivering. I'll handle this," he said quietly. "Go and wait for me inside the truck. Please."

Both men remained silent, watching as Heather, head hung low, numbly made her way to Grissom's Denali. As soon as she was out of earshot, Grissom turned to Brass who shook a slow weary face and lifted his shoulders saying, "Gil, I'm going to have to arrest her."

Grissom shook his head. "No."

"Oh, come on," Brass exclaimed heatedly, glancing toward the paramedics working on Sneller, "I have no choice. She's committed a grievous assault."

"You're not doing it here. You're not doing it now. She's not stable. She needs medical attention, not a night in a cell while you wait for Sneller to give his statement."

Brass's eyes widened with incredulity, his tone cold as he said, "Are you telling me how to do my job?"

Grissom let out a long breath and rubbed his weary face before dropping his hand in frustration. "Come on Jim," he said his voice rising. He looked around, lowering his tone so as not to be overheard. "You know as well as I do what happened here tonight. You also know _why_ she did it. Mentally she's at breaking point. Her daughter's just died, Jim; she's not thinking straight. I'm going to take her home and that's that."

Brass arched his brow at the ultimatum but Grissom didn't give him time to interrupt before continuing. "Sneller's going to be fine. You wait for his statement and then you do what you got to do. You'll know where to find her. I'll make sure she doesn't leave the state. How's that?"

"How's that? How's _that_?" Brass repeated his voice rising in incredulity. He let out a short breath. "I can't believe you're prepared to put your job on the line, your career, your reputation for a…for a…" The words left him but he held Grissom's gaze nonetheless.

"For what, Jim, huh?" Grissom asked. The corner of his lip rose with a smirk. "Come on, don't be shy, speak your mind. For a Dominatrix? A madam? A prostitute?"

Brass drew out a long breath. "Gil," he said in a conciliatory tone, "I didn't say that."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm her _friend_," he said with deliberate emphasis on the word friend, flicking his index finger toward Heather in the passenger seat of his truck, "Like I'm _your_ friend." His finger shifted to Brass's chest. "And tonight Heather needs me, as her friend. You may think what you want but that's all there is to it." Grissom paused, watching Brass with a raised brow while his words sunk in.

Biting his lip, the captain spread his hands out wide indicating defeat. From the corner of his eye he glanced toward Heather and laughed a small cold laugh. "Have it your way. I'm not your keeper."

"No, you're not," he said coldly under Brass's incredulous stare. The CSI moved away, picked up the first-aid box before making his way back to the truck. Half-way over, he turned, saying over his shoulder,"You'll know where to find me if you need me. Heather will be in first thing in the morning to give her statement, okay?"

Brass's gaze was dark and unfriendly. He grudgingly gave a silent nod of the head in reply, visibly biting his tongue.

"Get Catherine on this," Grissom shouted as he opened his truck door, slinging the box on the back seat, "No one else." Heather's SUV was evidence now, as was the whip. "I'll get her clothing to the lab and take her in to give her statement myself."

He heaved himself into his truck, taking a moment to catch his breath before glancing toward Heather. Her gaze was dry, vacant as she stared unblinkingly straight ahead through the windshield toward Sneller. He sighed and without another glance at Brass or at the scene backed the truck out of the dirt track.

The drive to the dominion was a silent one. Heather kept her head turned away, watching the desert scenery pass by, while keeping his eye on the road and his hands firmly on the steering wheel he pondered the prudence of his actions. But what other choice could he have made?

He pulled up into her drive and cut the engine, dipping his head to look at the house. Some upstairs windows were lit and he sighed. "Do you have your key?"

A small shake of the head was her only reply. He got out, walked round to her side of the truck and opened the door, guiding her out of her seat and toward the house by the elbow. He was about to lift the brass knocker when he tried the handle, smiling as the door opened. He glanced toward his companion but she was totally impervious to her surroundings.

Laughter immediately filled the entrance lobby and he quickly steered her through to the sitting room, shutting the solid wood French doors after them. He stood awkwardly for a moment with his back against the doors at a loss as to what to do next. The bar in the corner of the room caught his eye. "Can I make you a drink?" he offered.

Looking up at his words Heather smiled softly. Before he could move she covered the small distance between them, her right hand coming up to his face, touching him gently on the cheek. "Thank you," she murmured, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

His heartbeat hitched at the touch and he closed his eyes briefly, reopening them as she pulled back, nodding. Her smile became tender, almost wistful and she lifted her left hand to his right cheek, framing his face before leaning across to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Heather, no," he said softly, turning his head away causing her lips to land on the corner of his mouth. He twisted his head out of her grasp and made eye contact. "I can't."

"But you want to," she retorted in a whisper.

He offered a small, sad smile and shook his head. "No."

She paused and watched him for a long time as though searching the sincerity of his word in his eyes before dropping her hands by her side. Her smile faded and she closed her eyes, turning away from his stare.

"I'm with someone, Heather," he added in a small voice.

She snapped her head round toward him, her eyes suddenly wide and dark and full of surprise. Her surprise turned to deep pain and he glimpsed disappointment in her gaze too. "Then why are you here? I don't need your sympathy and I certainly don't want your pity."

He faltered. "I-I care about you. You're my friend. _I'm _your friend."

She froze, letting out a small breath through her nose at his words, nodding her head in understanding. "You should go," she said, turning away dismissing him.

Grissom watched helplessly as she made her way to the cabinet on the far wall, removing her black leather gloves to pour herself a large measure of whisky. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket. He couldn't leave her on her own, not in the state she was in. Beside he'd told Brass he'd stay with her, keep an eye on her until the morning. He checked his watch. Sara would be wondering where he'd got to. He was supposed to have joined her at a scene out near Boulder City a couple of hours ago. Heather turned round, and leaning against the cabinet took a long gulp of amber liquid and closed her eyes.

He watched as the whisky went down her throat and sighed again. "I can't leave you like this," he said at last. "You're in shock."

She fixed him with a hard stare. "Go," she said over-dramatically with a sweeping wave of her hand toward the door. "Go do your precious work. Leave me be. Leave me to my…" she fished for the word for a moment before settling for, "…wretchedness."

He pursed his mouth, shaking his head at her melodrama. "I can't. I won't." He took a couple of hesitant steps nearer. "You might as well pour me a glass."

"You need drink to stay, do you?" she asked with a smirk.

He couldn't help the pity in his gaze and she turned away from it. "I got a call to make," was all he said. She had her back to him now but he clearly heard her quiet scoff. He moved to the lobby, pulled his cell and speed-dialled Sara's number.

Sara picked up on the third ring with her customary cheery, "This is Sara."

"Sara, it's me. I've-"

"Stood me up, I know," she cut in, laughing. "What happened to you? You said you'd be an hour max at Sneller's house."

He closed his eyes with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've been held up." He winced at his poor choice of words. "Listen Sara, I'm not going to make it; can you manage the scene on your own?"

Sara was silent for a while. "Sure," she said eventually, her jokey tone all but gone. "I'm almost done anyway. Is everything all right? You sound a little…off."

"I'm just tired," he said and then, "We got Zoe Kessler's killer."

"Yeah, I heard on the radio." There was a pause. "You…okay?" she asked again and he could hear all that she left unspoken in that one question.

"I'm fine," he managed hoping his words sounded more convincing to her than they did him. "I just got something I got to take care of, that's all." He let out a breath. "If I don't catch up with you before you clock off, I-"

"Don't worry," she cut in a little curtly, "I'll see you when I see you." Without adding another word she disconnected the call.

Grissom stared at his cell for a moment before flipping it shut and slipping it in the pocket of his black work pants. He didn't want to keep secrets from Sara and there was nothing secretive about what he was doing at Heather's. But now wasn't the time to tell her about it. Not on the phone. Not while she was a crime scene and him at Heather's house. He'd tell her face to face in the morning; there would be more time then.

He made his way back to the sitting room and found Heather seated on an armchair, nursing a second glass of whiskey. Or was it her third? His waited on the low table and he picked it up before taking a seat on the couch across from her.

"You never cease to amaze me," she said with a small chilling laugh.

Grissom's brow furrowed at her words. "I beg your pardon?"

She shook her head absently and took another long gulp of her drink.

He swirled his drink around the glass musingly before lifting his gaze to hers. "Maybe you ought to lay off a little," he advised in a friendly, caring tone.

She scoffed, shaking her head sadly. "Who are you to tell me what to do? You're not my husband," she paused gauging for a reaction as she added, "merely a former lover."

"Heather," he sighed in a disparaging tone.

She closed her eyes briefly and let out a small breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered wearily. "I know you mean well."

He shifted uncomfortably on the seat and took a small sip of the whisky she'd poured him. "Single malt," he remarked idly, raising the tumbler to peer at its amber texture.

She finished her drink and got up to pour herself another one. "Refill?" she asked.

"No." He paused and watched as she refilled her glass. "I told Brass that…that I would drive you to PD in the morning so you can give your statement. He's going to press charges, Heather and maybe it would be best if-"

"-if I could stand on my own two feet while he reads me my rights?" she finished for him. She put her drink down and turned. "You're right, I should go to bed, but first I believe you're going to need these for evidence."

She shrugged his windbreaker off and slung it on the back of the chair. Then she sat down, leaning forward to undo the long zipper of each boot before slipping her stocking feet out. Standing up, she slowly stripped to her underwear, piling the remainder of her clothes on top of the windbreak. Her lips trembled as she looked up, meeting his troubled gaze dead on. "You'll find paper bags in the kitchen," she said, making to leave the room.

Grissom watched as she left. He picked up the clothes and the gloves and made his way to the kitchen where he meticulously bagged them. He filled the tea kettle with water, put it on the stove and set about making tea, which he took upstairs.

He knocked at her bedroom door, waiting for her call to come in. Standing in her négligée by the bed, her face freshly washed, her hair combed she looked so much smaller than the woman he knew. Frail and broken too.

"I made you some tea," he said, lifting the tray to her eye line. He carefully stepped into the darkened room, closing the door after him before setting the tray on the small round table in the corner. He poured her a cup, took it to the bedside table and watched as she settled herself into bed. "I'll be downstairs if you need me," he said retreating back toward the door.

He had his hand on the handle when she rasped his name out and he paused with a sigh before slowly turning. She looked up and met his gaze with a small smile, her words coming out in a whisper as she said, "Would you stay?"

* * *

A/N: I could end it there or I could write another chapter dealing with the morning after, including his talk with Sara. How would he explain his friendship with Heather to his lover? Is that something people would like to read, if I promise to keep canon and keep it GSR?


	2. Chapter 2

"Grissom!" Heather's soft murmur as she called his name slowly permeated his subconscious, rousing him from the uncomfortable sleep he'd eventually succumbed to. Her hand moved to his shoulder and she shook it gently. "Grissom, wake up!"

The CSI woke with a start, his hand jerking upward to push aside the chenille throw she must have draped over him while he slept. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook his head briskly, trying to refocus his thoughts. Immediately, the previous night's events came flooding back to him and swinging his legs down from the chair he had pulled across to make a make-shift bed he looked up, his lips curling in an awkward smile on noticing Heather stood over him.

He cleared his voice and rubbed at his left eye again, asking somewhat groggily, "What time is it?" His hand moved to the back of his neck and he stretched his back and shoulders a few times in a failed attempt at easing the stiffness.

A warm smile touched her lips as she watched him. "Seven am."

He nodded, leaning forward to slip his shoes back on. "I'm sorry. I must have dozed off."

"I made some fresh tea," she said nodding toward the table when he looked up. "Would you like a cup while you freshen up?"

He smiled, nodding. "Yes, I would. Thank you."

She began pouring a second cup. "I put a spare toothbrush and a towel in the bathroom for you."

Slowly pushing up to his feet Grissom registered a look of surprise. "You seem…calmer than last night, more at peace with yourself."

She gave Grissom his cup of tea. "I had time to reappraise my position – on a lot of things."

She met his gaze dead on as he took the cup and he nodded his understanding of her words, accepting her apology for what it was. "Have you arranged counsel?" he asked, taking a sip of the beverage.

Heather's lips pursed into a genuine smile and Grissom saw relief in her eyes. "Yes, I have," she replied moving toward the window to open the drapes.

Watching her closely he took another long sip before setting the cup down on the tray. She had dressed in a vintage black dress that complemented her persona perfectly but only enhanced her pallid complexion and sunken eyes. Her hair was immaculate as was her make-up but despite wearing her carefully applied mask he could still make out the cracks underneath, however imperceptible.

"Good. You're going to need it."

She turned back toward him from pulling the drapes open and seeing fear and vulnerability in her eyes, he raised his hand to her face in a gesture of infinite tenderness. He brushed the back of his fingers on her cheek and she closed her eyes briefly leaning into his touch but thinking better of his display of affection he snatched his hand back.

"It's going to be okay, Heather," he said smiling as she reopened her eyes. "I'll make sure Brass has the full picture."

She gave him a wan nod of the head in reply. "I'm not sorry for what I did to Sneller last night. I'm prepared to do the time."

"It won't get to that."

"No need to pack an overnight bag then," she quipped weakly.

He smiled again, softly, supportively, glad that he had been able to give her a few hours' reprieve, a few hours to compose herself and regain some of her control and dignity, some pride before having to face Brass. Suddenly feeling awkward under her fond gaze he ran a quick hand through his curls and turned toward the bathroom. "I'll just, huh, splash some water on my face. I won't be long and then we can go."

She nodded. "Take you time. I'll be waiting downstairs."

* * *

Grissom turned into PD's front entrance parking lot and cut the engine. "You're ready?"

Heather unbuckled her seatbelt, looking up to nod at Grissom. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, letting out a short breath in hesitation.

He smiled encouragingly and patted her on the arm. "It's okay," he said, "I'm going to come in with you. Have a word with Brass first. See what the deal is with Sneller."

Shifting on the seat he reached for the door handle, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned toward her with a questioning frown on his face.

"Listen, Grissom," she said, taking her hand back, "I appreciate what you've done for me – what you're doing for me – but I think it would be best for you if you didn't come in with me. You've incriminated yourself enough as it is and I wouldn't want for you and your reputation to…" Realising where she was going with her speech Grissom opened his mouth to interrupt but she lifted a gloved hand, stopping him. "Please, let me finish." He nodded and she continued. "I wouldn't want your reputation to be tarnished because of what I did last night and of our…" she sighed, "your acquaintance with me."

"Heather, I don't care about all that," he smiled shaking his head at her words.

"Nevertheless, I'd be more confortable if you didn't stay for the interview."

She was watching him pleadingly, expectantly and he closed his eyes briefly before nodding his head in agreement.

"I called a good friend of mine," she added softly. "She's going to represent me. She should already be waiting inside."

"All right." He checked his watched. Nightshift was officially over but with a bit of luck Sara would still be around. "I got to go to CSI to drop off your clothes anyway. I'll pop back when I'm done."

"That won't be necessary." She looked down to her hands in her lap and swallowed. "I'm not sure whether…" She looked up abruptly, her brave smile quivering. "Well, let's just say that I might need that overnight bag after all."

He reached across for her hand which he squeezed warmly. "I trust Brass to do the right thing. Just be straight with him."

She held his gaze and they both smiled. "Thank you," she said.

He watched as turning to open the passenger door she picked up her purse, got out and then grabbed her overnight bag from the back seat. Head held high and shoulders squared back proudly she walked decisively into the building without a backward glance in his direction. Sighing he started the car as she disappeared inside the building and made the short journey to the crime lab.

After he had logged in her clothing as evidence he had a cursory look around the lab in search of Sara, ending up in his office but she'd obviously gone home already. There, he stared at the stack of memos and telephone messages on his desk and shook his head, heading straight back out to Catherine's office. She was sat at her desk, poring over case notes, her glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looked up when leaning on the doorjamb he knocked on the open door.

"You last out?" he asked.

She smiled and removed her glasses, nodding her reply. "You okay?"

He plunged his hands in his pants pockets, shifting uncomfortably. "Sure. Why shouldn't I be?"

Catherine pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "Heather's giving her statement?"

"Yeah," he sighed at the speed news travelled. "She's doing it right now."

Catherine nodded, then looked down in hesitation before meeting his gaze again. "Sounds like you made it to her in the nick of time. Brass said she'd have whipped the man to death if it weren't for you. I can't say I blame her," she finished musingly.

Grissom lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Brass talks too much."

His tone had been harsher than he'd intended and Catherine picked up on it. She frowned with concern, watching him for a moment before letting it go. "He's charged Sneller. He's still at the hospital but he should make a full recovery." Grissom nodded and watched tiredly as Catherine got to her feet. "This can wait," she said, waving her hand at the paperwork on her desk. "Want to come for a bite to eat? You look like you need it."

He shook his head and pushed himself off the doorjamb. "No. I'm going to go back to PD check on Heather and then I'll hit the sack. You should do the same."

Catherine stifled a yawn. "You sure?"

He nodded again and made to leave. "Go home, Catherine. You won't be any good to me tonight otherwise."

His comment raised a smile. "I will, just after I finish with this."

He started walking away down the corridor toward the locker room before stopping abruptly and retracing his steps to Catherine's door. "Listen, Catherine," he said, pausing and she looked up, smiling. He shrugged. "Thanks for covering for me last night."

Her smile grew wider, fonder, and she nodded. "Don't mention it; what are friends for, hey? Besides, you've covered enough for me in the past."

He gave a half-nod of the head. "I'll see you tonight." He turned and left, feeling Catherine's eyes on him until he disappeared round the corner.

After a stop at his locker for his personal effects, Grissom drove back to PD in his Mercedes. As he pulled into the lot he noticed a silver BMW manoeuvring out of a parking space and he stopped, waiting, following with his eyes as it drove past him. Heather sat on the passenger seat and she gave him a nod of the head and a small smile. He smiled back and watched her disappear before checking his watch; Heather had been at PD just under an hour**. **She wouldn't be needing her overnight bag after all, he thought tenderly.

He parked the car, headed straight to Brass's office. The captain was at his desk, filling in a report and Grissom walked straight in.

"Sneller's not pressing charges," Brass said before Grissom had time to make his presence known, looking up. He put his pen down and ran a tired hand over his face. "It was in his best interest, and he understood that."

Grissom's brow rose in surprise. "You're not going to prosecute?"

Brass shrugged mildly. "There are no aggrieved parties here. Not as far as I'm concerned."

Grissom could only stare at Brass in amazement at a complete loss for words. He'd expected Heather to be charged with assault at the very least and to be out on bail.

"Don't mention it," Brass said caustically when Grissom still hadn't spoken. "I didn't do it for her."

Gratitude filled Grissom's features and he averted his eyes, nodding.

"You want to know what's funny?" Brass then asked, causing Grissom to look up abruptly. "She completely exonerated you of any wrongdoings. Didn't want your name dragged in the mud any more than I did." He laughed to himself. "She'd have gone down for it just so you were left untouched."

The CSI lifted a I-don't-know-what-to-say shrug. "I owe you one, I guess," he said in a long breath.

Brass scoffed. "I'd say we were even, wouldn't you?"

The two men stared at each other silently for a moment before Grissom nodded his head again. Brass leaned back in his chair and opened his desk bottom drawer, pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. "Take a seat," he said affably as he began to pour the first glass.

Smiling, Grissom shook his head. "Not for me, thanks. Next time, maybe. I'm beat. I'm headed home."

Brass paused and watched Grissom with a raised brow.

Grissom pursed his mouth in a wry smile, seemingly reading Brass's thoughts. "My home; my bed."

Brass laughed in good humour. "You look like you need it." Despite Grissom's protestations he poured a second glass and pushed it on his desk toward his friend.

"So do you," the CSI replied lightly, reaching for the glass.

Brass raised his glass to Grissom and knocked back the scotch in one gulp. Grissom pursed his face as he looked at the glass in his hand before following suit, wincing and shaking his head as he swallowed the burning in his throat. He set the glass down on the desk with a small thump and turned, headed out of the door. If only it was this easy to make up with a woman, he thought. "I'll catch you later," he said with a small chuckle.

"You sure will."

* * *

Shoulders drooping with fatigue, he had just let himself into his townhouse when he paused at the threshold, drawing out a long dreary breath at the thought of the cold bed awaiting him. He looked back over his shoulder toward his car and without another thought, pulled the door shut after him. He should have never driven back to his. He smiled to himself in anticipation of Sara's warm body in his arms. Just to hear her even breathing as she slept, feel her warmth as he lay curled up in a spoon behind her, his hand draped over her side almost possessively. That's where he wanted to be.

He pulled up into her lot, parking the Mercedes alongside the brand-new Prius stationed in its usual spot and stealing a glance toward her window cut the engine. The drapes were pulled; she was in, most probably already sleeping. He reached into the glove compartment for the key to her apartment he kept in there and made his way to the first floor. Checking his watch and grateful that she hadn't put the chain on the door, he let himself into her flat before pausing at the threshold, hesitating as a thought occurred. Maybe she had heard where he had spent part of the night, or rather who he had spent part of the night with. Maybe he should have been upfront with her when he had the chance on the phone. She had friends too, he reasoned, she would understand that sometimes they took precedence.

He closed the door without a sound, removing his sunglasses which he slipped in his jacket pocket while he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. Silently, he toed off his shoes and shrugged his brown suede jacket off before dumping it on the arm of the couch on his way to the bedroom. The door was open; the drapes pulled but still allowing the gentlest flicker of daylight into the room. He stopped at the threshold, smiling lovingly as he watched her sleep. Except that she was faking it. His smile vanished instantly and he sighed. She knew.

Silently, he stripped to his T-shirt and boxers, removed his socks and slipped between the sheets next to her warm form. Her back to him she didn't move and he remained on his back for a moment, with his head in the crook of his elbow, listening to her overly slow breathing, waiting for the moment she would blow at him. What else could he have done though? Heather was his friend and the death of her daughter had knocked her sideways. He'd had no choice but to go to her help. If he hadn't done it who would have? And what would have become of her then?

He turned onto his side, slowly edging closer toward Sara until he was close enough to drape his arm over her hip and rest his hand over the swell of her stomach as he loved to do. He felt her tense at the touch but he didn't relinquish his hold of her and just pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his lips on her skin. He took in a deep breath of her scent and closed his eyes.

"And that makes it okay then, does it?" she said in a hoarse whisper. She had been crying.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and sighed. "Sara-"

"Don't touch me," she snapped, twisting out of his grasp into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. Her head fell forward and she put her hands to it.

Grissom snatched his hand back, scorched by the antagonism in her tone and words. Bafflement filled his feature. "Sara-"

"Why are you here, Grissom?" she asked, keeping her back to him.

"I beg you pardon?" he asked with a genuinely confounded expression.

She sprung to her feet, whipping her head round toward him. Her eyes were red rimmed and raw and cold, so very cold. He flinched back with surprise, dropping his hand to the mattress and swallowed.

"Why are you here, now?" she asked again, her pain and anger coming out in her tone. Her tank top had ridden up and she pulled it down over her stomach self-consciously. Her lips quivered but her gaze was hard despite the tears welling in their corners. She pinched her lips to stop them trembling but stared him down while he remained silent, his mouth open as he struggled to get a grip on the situation. Eventually, he let out a long breath, sitting up, and reached over to switch the bedside light on.

"Why are you with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper now, "when you have her?" At last, he understood and his heart broke at her pain. He could hardly bear Sara's imploring expression and tone, the wide, fearful eyes and furrowed brow, fists clenched by her side. "What is it with her?" she continued, her tears spilling freely now.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, fraught breath. "I don't love her, Sara," he said quietly, reopening his eyes. He reached out a hand to her but then snatched it back.

Sara scoffed a low broken sound and she shook her head at him. "That's not what I asked." Wiping rough fingers over her wet cheeks, she cleared the tears from her voice. "How is it Grissom that she says 'Jump' and you ask 'How high'?"

"Sara, it's not like that," he defended weakly.

Her lips suddenly curled upward coldly and she lifted an icy stare at him. "Is that where you go when you feel 'suffocated'? When you need to 'breathe'?" she asked, miming quote marks, her voice dripping with contempt.

"What?" He watched her with utter confusion for a moment before he remembered rash words spoken to her during a case a few weeks previously. "No," he exclaimed vehemently, shaking his head in disbelief. He rubbed his tired face with both hands as though he could rub himself away from this nightmare. "Sara, no. You know I didn't mean what I said then. We talked about it. Please, Sara," he got off the bed and taking a tentative step toward her reached out his hand, "this…is nothing."

She took a step back, moving her hands away out of his reach and he stopped. His heart broke at the insecurity and fragility in her gaze. "Is it?" she whispered, exhaling a fraught breath. "I can't believe I had to hear it from Brass. Brass of all people! I can't believe you'd protect her like that, that you'd stake your career for her. What is she to you, Gil?"

He lifted a helpless shoulder and settled for the truth. "Heather needed me tonight. I just couldn't leave her or she would have killed him. If I hadn't come when I did, she would have killed him, and herself afterwards."

"That's not your job."

His brow rose. "No, it's not. But she's my friend, Sara."

Sara scoffed, and then nodded her head, dropping her gaze in defeat. "Everybody knows about you and her, Gil," she sighed. "It's all over the lab, for goodness sake."

He stiffened at her words and dropped his hands by his side. Disappointment at her lack of trust filled his features and his face closed off. "You know what, Sara? I can't deal with this right now." He moved round the bed, picked up his clothes and hurriedly began redressing himself. "I'm tired and I've got a shift to run in a few hours. I shouldn't have come here. I've done nothing wrong, Sara. If you don't believe me, then that's your problem." He looked up from buttoning his shirt and made eye contact. "But Heather is my friend," he added holding her gaze, "and she needed me. End of." Turning his back on her, he sat at the edge of the bed and pulled his socks on before pushing to his feet and leaving the bedroom without a backward glance.

He shoved his feet into his shoes by the door, grabbed his jacket from the couch and was out of the door in a flash.

Sara made no move to stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: It's a little early still, but I don't think I'm going to have time to write much in the next few weeks – that said you know me and the bug might bite. So, have a merry Christmas everyone, those of you who celebrate!

Joyeux Noël à tous!

* * *

Seething with anger at her lack of trust and at the indignity of her accusations he climbed into his Mercedes, shoving the keys in the ignition, headed home. He was shattered and he'd had enough. But at the last moment he paused and didn't turn the key. He could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, his breaths coming thick and fast and he closed his eyes, dropping his forehead to the steering wheel as he attempted to calm his racing heart.

What the hell had just happened?

Sara's words still echoed in his mind, harsh and cold, her sad, broken face filling the space behind his eyelids. His heart broke at her pain but what else could he have done? He hated having walked out on her like that but had he not, he feared one of them would have said something they would have regretted and not been able to take back. Her wrongful accusations were borne out of her insecurities, he knew that, she'd been burned before, and bad but that knowledge didn't take away the hurt her words and beliefs caused.

She was angry and hurt, and judging by her words she felt threatened by Heather and his friendship with the Dominatrix. He could see that, and to a certain degree he understood that but she had been quick to condemn him, believing the lab's gossip without giving him the chance to explain and put across his side.

Surely she had to know that he would never, ever contemplate going with another woman when he was with her. Hadn't he made his commitment to her plain enough? How could she think he was having a relationship with Heather while they were seeing each other? When Heather had just lost her daughter? How could she believe he was capable of taking advantage of someone whilst at their lowest ebb?

But most importantly how could she believe after all that they'd been through together that he was capable of betraying her trust and act like all the other men that had hurt her in the past? Hadn't he proven to her recently that he was different?

He looked up toward the building and stared at her darkened window. His breathing gradually evened out, his anger slowly abating, making way to sorrow. Guilt followed. He wasn't all innocent in this; he knew that or the first words he'd have spoken to her wouldn't have been an apology. He wasn't sorry for going to Heather's help – if he had to do it again, he would, in the blink of an eye – but maybe he should have been upfront with Sara from the start and stopped to consider her feelings and how his actions would affect her and their relationship.

_Not maybe_, he thought with a long sigh and a heavy heart, _definitely_. His thoughtless actions had hurt Sara deeply and she was lashing out, protecting herself from further pain the only way she knew how and the last thing he wanted to do, consciously or not, was to be the cause of her misery. She's been through a lot in her life to be the person she was now and he admired for it, loved her for it.

And yet, he couldn't help wondering. Was she asking him to choose between his love for her and his friendship with Heather? Is that what the fight had been about? His eyes closed again, his head dropping forward, bouncing off the steering wheel a few times in frustration. Why was it all so damn difficult?

Heather was his friend. She was misunderstood, as he was. People only saw of her what she allowed them to see, a glimpse of the person underneath the Dominatrix's mask, the persona of Lady Heather. When he looked at her he saw the woman, with all her foibles and fears. He enjoyed her company, her intelligence and beautiful mind and over the last three years they had met socially a few times and had developed a relationship of sorts, a friendship based on deep respect and trust. She was the only woman who understood him without questions or explanations, or expectations. With her he felt no pressure to pretend or act, be someone he wasn't. He equated his relationship with Heather to that he had with Brass and Catherine, or even with Sara, before.

Maybe he was more suited to friendships, he reasoned. Romantic relationships were demanding, hard-work and truth be told they had always eluded him. Of course there had been women – special women – along the years but ultimately none that mattered enough for him to take the next step, for him to want to change his ways or make space in his life for another person. Not until Sara.

Sara. Smart, sharp, strong – headstrong some would say – beautiful, enchanting Sara. He let out a long breath. Infuriating too. Sara, with eyes so dark and expressive, in turn tender and loving or hard and hurt, hypnotising; her grin, a beautiful curve of her lips that entranced him and made him weak at the knees; her giggle, laughter that filled him with joy and warmth every single time. She was strong, yet fragile and vulnerable. A facet of her personality only he was privy to. She made his heart beat like no other woman could. She made him _feel_ like no other woman could. Around her he felt young, alive, happy. Whole.

_What a fool!_ he thought suddenly, laughing to himself in disbelief at what he'd just let happen. He had to go back to her and explain before it was too late, before he was too late. His eyes snapped open and his head lifting off the steering wheel he snatched the key out of the ignition. He had his hand on the door handle ready to pull it when the tapping of knuckles on the passenger window startled him. His head whipped round, dipping to see who was at the window and his heart leaped in his chest.

For there she stood, clutching her robe tightly around her, casting furtive looks around the car lot, his cell in her hand. He frowned, patting his jacket pocket with one hand, reaching across the car with the other to flick the lock. She opened the door, her expression shy and apologetic as she leaned in, and she held out his cell to him as she would an olive branch. Her shrug of the shoulder was uncertain and tentative, her smile even more so.

They both started to speak at once, immediately lapsing into silence to let the other one talk. Sara's eyes flicked downward bashfully.

"I was on my way back up," Grissom said quietly, breaking the awkwardness.

She glanced up at him, replying with a small lift of her shoulder, "And I came down."

They watched each other for a moment, smiling uneasily at the situation and he took in a deep breath, making the first move. "Listen, Sara, I'm sorry."

She looked down to her hand, lifting the cell to him. "I found it on the couch," she said in a small voice. "She called. I thought it might be important. I didn't listen to the message." She shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes.

A brow rising, he nodded and reached for the phone, keeping his eyes on her face as he did so. Her pain was still raw and visible and he realised that if he wanted to save his relationship with her he'd have to be honest and open about his relationship with Heather. His fingers brushed over her hand, slowly, lovingly, and she looked up, shyly meeting his gaze, and he smiled tenderly at her. He just wanted to make everything okay again, see the sparkle in her eyes and hear her laughter, hold her in his arms. Make love to her.

She tried to pull her hand away but he held on to it, briefly averting his eyes to their joined hands. He made no attempt at taking the cell off her. He just turned both her hand and the phone over, squeezing warmly before looking up as he said, "I want you to."

She frowned in confusion and he lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "I want you to listen to the message."

Her brow furrowed deeper. "But you don't know what it says."

"It doesn't matter, Sara. It won't say anything that you can't hear. I've nothing to hide, not from you."

She stared at him for a moment searching his eyes. Seeing nothing but truth and love there she shook her head, quickly removing her hand so he was left holding the phone. "I don't want to. I don't need to. I trust you," she said, in a low whisper. She held his gaze, her lips curling into a small embarrassed smile. "Or at least I want to. I really do."

Relief washed over his face. "You do?" he asked. There was no antagonism in his tone, just surprise and he smiled, watching her tenderly, simply desperate to believe her words.

She nodded softly, and her gaze flicking to a car pulling into the car lot pulled the lapels of her robe closer to her neck. She frowned. "It's just…"

Dropping the phone on the dashboard he leaned across to push the door open wider. "Get in," he said, "before someone sees you and calls the police."

With one last furtive look around the lot she slipped inside the car, pulling the door shut after her. Only then did he notice that the robe she'd hastily donned over her pyjama shorts and tank top was the one he'd given her as a gift for her last birthday, the first one as a couple. He'd spent ages choosing it, wondering whether it was appropriate, whether she'd like it, eventually putting his faith in the shop assistant when she'd categorically said, "Your lady friend will absolutely love it." She had been right, of course. His eyes skimmed down her bare legs to the work boots she'd put on over her bare feet, and a grin he tried really hard to keep in broke across his face.

Catching his eye Sara pursed her face, saying, "I kind of was in a hurry so this was the best I could do."

His heart filled with unconditional love for her. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to compete with Heather. I love _you_. I love you just the way you are. Works boots and all."

"You do?"

His face fell at the quiver in her voice and he made to reach out to her but she turned her face away from him and he didn't, snatching his hand back hesitantly instead. "Of course I do. Oh, Sara," he began earnestly, "I behaved like a single man. Like a jerk." He let out a small breath. "When I realised what Heather was doing I didn't stop to think. I acted on instinct and my instinct told me that I had to go and stop her, above everything else. There was no time and everything else faded in the background." He looked at her beseechingly. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

She leaned across, placing two slender fingers over his lips, stopping his apology. "No. I'm sorry. You acted with…" she swallowed, "Lady -"

"Heather," he amended softly. "She's just a normal person, Sara, like you and me. She's not this effigy, this-"

"Heather," she corrected with a conciliatory nod, cutting in when the words failed him. She dropped her hand to his chest. "You acted with her the way I would have acted with any of my friends. Had it been Nick or Warrick or Greg in her situation, I'd have done the same thing." She averted her gaze to his lap. "I get that but-"

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Thank you."

"But," she let out a short breath, stopping short, meeting his eyes with anxious ones of her own, "you should have been upfront about it. Not make it a secret, make it dirty the way you did."

He pinched his lips together, shifting on the seat until he faced her before finally nodding at her with a sigh. "You're right I should have. I should have let you know. You shouldn't have to have heard it from Jim. And for that I am truly sorry." He raised her hand to his mouth again and pressed a soft kiss to it. "I'm only just getting used to thinking in terms of us and…Sara, up to now, up to a few months ago, it was just me. My decisions were mine and mine alone, and so were the consequences."

"And now?" she prompted quietly.

He shrugged. "Now, I've let you into my life, into my heart. It's not just me anymore and last night I forgot that." He paused and watched her intently, wanting her to see the sincerity of his words in his eyes. "But Sara, honey, you have nothing to fear. I-I'm with you. I chose _you_, not Heather. It's you I come home to every day." He shrugged at the plainness of his words. "In my heart, I've been yours since we met." His lips pursed into a small awkward smile, unused as he was to such bare declaration of love.

Tears filled Sara's eyes and she bit her bottom lip, blinking them away. She squeezed his hands tight. "I know. I know that. It's just that she…" she shrugged helplessly the rest of her sentence off, her feelings of inadequacies and intimidation toward the Dominatrix plain to see. A feeling he could only equate to shame flashed in her eyes and she looked away.

He sighed and lifted gentle fingers to her cheek, turning her face toward him until his eyes bore into hers earnestly. "She doesn't have my heart, Sara. She's just my friend, nothing more. Like Jim or Catherine is. You see the Dominatrix and I see the woman." She dropped her eyes from his and he sighed. How could he make her see past her insecurities? "There is nothing sordid going on between us, Sara. There's never been and there will never be either."

She met his gaze steadily. "But you slept with her."

He swallowed. _Trust her and she will trust you,_ a little voice whispered behind his ear. "Not last night, no," he replied levelly.

"But you have in the past."

He dropped his gaze to the steering wheel, nodding. "Once, three years ago," he sighed before lifting his eyes back up to her face. "But it was before you and me, Sara. You were with that…EMT guy and," he let out another short breath, "it happened once and it didn't mean anything. She's no threat to you, to us, I swear."

Calm, Sara stared into his eyes for a long time before giving a slow accepting nod of the head. She lifted her hand to his face and brushed her fingers gently down his bearded cheek. "It's okay, Gil," she said in a murmur keeping her hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes leaning into her touch. "It's okay to tell me. It means a lot to me that you trust me enough to share that with me. Trust works both ways."

He blinked suddenly and wiped at the corner of his right eye. "I know."

"You know about my past, and I want to know about yours," she continued in a soft voice.

"I get that now."

"And honestly I would rather know than wonder or hear it second-hand. The gossip I can deal with as long as I know in my heart it's not true."

Grissom's cell suddenly beeped with a text message and he glanced at the lit-up display. "Heather," he said, looking at Sara before turning the phone off. "Honey, when I disappear, when I need a breather I don't go to Heather's or to anyone else's for that matter." He smiled, shrugging. "I ride coasters. I go play cards. You know that; that's what I do, that's who I am."

A soft smile touched her lips and she nodded. "I know and I don't want you to change."

He leaned over and cupped her face, brushing his lips to the corner of her mouth. "I can cope with Brass's snide looks and remarks. I can cope with everybody else's innuendos, I just shut them out, but Sara I can't cope with us fighting like that – and I don't want to have to either." He stared at her for a long time before adding, "I made a commitment to you, Sara and no one else, and that's not going to change. You know I'm no good at all that romantic stuff and that I'm better at being a friend than a lover but with you I want both. I have both."

"We do."

His face suddenly lit up with a revelation and he grinned at her with renewed fervour.

"What?" she drew out, her face pursing in mock-distrust.

"Move in with me," he said with a twist of his lips.

This time, a short, stunned, "What?"

He shrugged, the smug grin playing on his lips giddy with uncontained delight. "Move in with me."

"I don't know," she replied, looking away.

"I do," he said simply, watching her expectantly. He took both her hands in his, waiting until she returned his gaze to continue. "Sara," his mouth stayed open while he searched for the right words, "I'm a man. I'm not perfect. Far from it. I'm no good at a lot of things but I want to make this work. I want to make _us_ work. Please, at least think about it."

Sara watched him intently for a long time, visibly debating with herself. Eventually a wide smile broke across her face and she nodded her acceptance, slowly at first and then more vigorously. Laughing, she shuffled on the seat and over the middle console while he shifted toward her until they were only a breath apart from each other. She took his face in her hands, leaning across to kiss him softly on the lips.

"Yes," she whispered, "I'd love to."

Her lips parted, pressing harder onto his mouth, her kiss becoming more urgent and Grissom's eyes closed at the rush of relief and love suddenly surging through him. The feel of her tongue caressing his lips soon awoke his senses and his mouth yielded, a soft moan of pleasure escaping at her onslaught. His hands came up to her face, to the back of her head, to her throat and he returned the kiss with passion, his tongue darting out seeking and meeting hers ardently.

Panting, he pulled back from her. Her eyes were shining, her face glowing with happiness and he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. "Now, can we go to bed?" he laughed. "I'm beat."

Sara's cocked eyebrow was teasing, her ensuing giggle warm and loving. "Yours or mine?"

"Does it matter?"

* * *

The End.

* * *

A/N: I've just realised, of all the stories I've written about these two, even the angsty ones, this is the first one I write where they have a fight, if you can call the end of the last chapter that. I hope Grissom made up for his insensitivity and lack of communication toward Sara in this chapter. That said, we all know he will do it again, don't we?


End file.
